


a lifetime of halves

by Roxie Ann (pluvial_poetry)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-01
Updated: 2011-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-15 07:22:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluvial_poetry/pseuds/Roxie%20Ann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Eames valued his own skin, he had decided that there were other, more profitable pursuits available for a man of his talents.</p><p>Then he met Arthur. And there was no leaving after that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a lifetime of halves

There had come a time when Eames had considered leaving the business of dreamsharing for good. He had burned through several identities staying in front of a government who were doing their abject best to contain the more illegal applications of the technology. It was infuriatingly narrow-minded but, as Eames valued his own skin, he had decided that there were other, more profitable pursuits available for a man of his talents.

Then he met Arthur. And there was no leaving after that.

They had probably fallen into bed too quickly, in retrospect. Eames had been too distracted to see it at the time, loving that he was allowed to see Arthur like that, at his most basic level; became preoccupied with the gift of Arthur's imperfections. The slick mess of saliva on his balls, the uncoordinated jerk of his hips, the sharp unrestrained gasps he made as he fell apart under Eames' hands. Standing there in Eames' hotel room with his trousers undone, the prim line of his mouth still red and wet from Eames' lips. He had Eames on his knees and Eames wouldn't have it any other way, pulling back to suck at the head of Arthur's cock, cruelly soft and slow, before allowing Arthur's impatient hands in his hair to tug him forward again. Arthur was selfish in this, grunting, "fuck, yes, yes, _fuck_ ", grinding into Eames' mouth, the short hair at Arthur's groin scraping his face, and Eames took it all, wanted it all. He couldn't breathe, his jaw was almost unbearably tight, his cock was painfully hard inside his trousers. And he would have stayed like that, just like that, all night if that's what Arthur wanted.

Arthur let a thumb trace over the top bow of Eames' lips; it would have been a romantic gesture except he was saying, "I like you this way," in a voice that implied he didn't much like Eames any other way. Speaking almost conversationally, as though his balls weren't pressed flush against Eames' chin, as though he wasn't about to come down Eames' throat. Arthur was a complete bastard really, especially in this, inconsiderate and immodest, and Eames was utterly mad about him. The movement of Arthur's hips is just on the right side of punishing now, and he's too close to coming to bother with words, just desperately sucking in air. It ended like that, with Arthur's eyes closed tight, his fingers digging into Eames' scalp, and the taste of him over Eames' tongue, flooding his mouth, filling his throat. Eames touched himself through his trousers, clumsily using the heel of his hand to bring himself off, coming in a mess inside his pants, groaning, "Arthur, jesus fuck" as his orgasm rocketed through him.

He wanted more. He wanted to take Arthur to the ground, drag those expensive trousers down his legs, slide two wet fingers into that pert little arse of his and fuck him into the carpet as he begged for it harder and deeper.

So yes, in retrospect Eames should have hesitated before he had a taste for Arthur, like Persephone and the pomegranate seeds, dooming himself to a life of halves. Half of his world real and half imagined. Half-criminal, half-inventor. And always half in love with Arthur.


End file.
